"Luk ahead dat is where ur future lies"

It is a peculiar ability of the ‘happy souls’ that they can let life sit very lightly upon their shoulders, and accept stuff as they materialise, with a certain easy grace which while seemingly a second nature for them is a hard act to follow for the rest of us. Happy souls may be generally thought of as only living in the present  – living in the moment today and/or not burdening themselves with the possibilities of the coming tomorrow. Vivre au present is good but it does not entail throwing away your responsibilities and cares to achieve this. The thinker Ralph Emerson says, “We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles” and that is perhaps, a very ineffective way of living.

When I was in school I came across this English idiom ‘the wood for the trees’. This is used to refer to someone who cannot see the wood for the trees cos they get so caught up in small details that they fail to understand the bigger picture. While the rest of us are so engrossed in the act of thinking and focused on the object of our thoughts, happy souls characteristically are able to happily assimilate the larger scope of life and live it out accordingly. While we wallow in and contend with stuff past and present, the happy soul not only lightly wafts through the same stuff but also acts upon and looks ahead to where our future lies.

I wish I too can develop this same lightness of spirit, and the capability to unfocus from the petty problems of yesterday and today to joyously welcome tomorrow.

EPILOGUE

Yesterday I was mock-wrestling with Bhumon the charm-kid (read more about him in Infinite Mischief) and he was expectedly getting the worse of it. Panting and tired he finally bade me to stop.  He collected his breath and told me with mirthful seriousness in his eyes, “Roon da, when I become bigger tomorrow, you will not be able to lift me off with the same ease.” Saying this, he laughed and ran off. A very good reason that, for looking forward to the future. That started me off thinking about some possible reasons for my own. 

[ "Simran 'Luk ahead dat is where ur future lies'" is the profile name for Simi in Orkut]

Magic in dough

As we turn into one of the busier lanes of Lajpat Nagar, we catch sight of this sign in neon lights proudly proclaiming ‘Shiv Dhaba – We Serve 36 Types of Paranthas’. It was my early days in Delhi then and so, I marveled at this seemingly unbelievable declaration. Back home in Assam, paranthas are a frugal affair with a thin round apologetic-looking specimen surrounded by a (mostly) watery concoction of lentils and aloo. In Delhi which for me, is the parantha capital of the country, the parantha is not just dough, it is a boisterous, aroma-filled way of life. Trust the Delhites to turn around anything and make it a celebration!!

My initial snobbish reaction towards paranthas has turned into a great liking for this magical piece of dough. Stuffed paranthas or just the plain parantha, the happy parantha swimming around in its own pool of melted butter, the busy-looking parantha which comes accompanied with a full attendance of sabzi, dal, pickle, onion rings, dahi et al – I have met them all in Delhi. Delhi was also the place where I got introduced to the more elaborate and regal-sounding eastern cousin – the Mughlai Parantha which is stuffed with beaten egg and keema (minced meat).

This liking started innocuously enough and like all good things in life, took its own time in blossoming fully. I liked only the plain parantha at first, and then I started preferring the stuffed ones. I looked down upon those dunking their paranthas in quarter-makkhan (1/4^th of a 100 gm stick of Amul butter) thinking to myself ‘look at these poor calorie freaks’ until I myself started doing the same with every single order. Later during my post-graduate days where there was a long line of small eateries behind our college dishing out paranthas of every description, I used to derive great pleasure from simply reading out their parantha-filled menu cards. Just look at these, I told myself, they have Aloo paranthas – Aloo-piyaz paranthas – Gobi (cauliflower) paranthas – Gajar (carrot) paranthas - Mooli (radish) paranthas – Paneer (cottage cheese) paranthas – Andaa (egg)  paranthas – Chicken paranthas – Keema paranthas. In Delhi you might be forgiven for believing that every conceivable veggie after getting chopped, boiled or masticated finds itself stuffed inside a parantha.

If one thinks that fascination for the delights of this heavens-fried flat bread is confined to the northern part of the country, then the southern cousin ‘parotta’ provides ample gastronomic evidence to the contrary. Some of the tiny Mangalorean eateries in Mumbai offer the crisply-fried and layered parotta endemic to south India. I found these perfect and spent many an evening tearing off succulent pieces of the parotta and dunking them in the coconut- and tamarind-flavoured rassa (curry) provided gratis and even with omelettes.

Sometime later in Kerala I had the opportunity to savour their local parotta which is fluffier cos the dough is prepared with egg, thus making the bread rise more. This parotta I found, was quite scrumptious when paired off with a side-dish of the local fiery mutton or chicken curry.

I feel that the parantha is demonstrably the most gracious of hosts. Whether you are pouring out a piping Mangalorean rassa next to it or lining its insides with fenugreek or even cashew, the parantha welcomes with alacrity everything that we Indians, see fit to embellish it with. 

Sufi-aana

I find the following words from the Sufi song ‘Iktara’ (the male solo version from ‘Wake Up Sid’) particularly affecting:

“…..Beeti Raat Baasi Baasi Padi Hai Sirahane

Band Darwaza Dekhe Lauti Hai Subah…..”

Which translated into English would roughly say,” The spent pillow is the only remnant of a restless night; Morning comes only to retrace its steps when it sees the door closed.”

I suppose it is these heart-aching sentiments of restlessness and loss as felt in that vision of the sleep-lorn pillow and that door tightly clasped shut, which evoke this affection. Good poetry succeeds with a simplicity in words and a vividness in images, in ensnaring the mind and oftentimes, the heart too.

The words of the Sufi poets strung together along like so many pearls, in praise of the Lord and complete surrender of the self in His love, have this innate quality of being profound while being extremely simple. The pantheon of the great Sufi poets that is Hafez, Rumi, Yunus Emre and so many others, have bequeathed mankind a wealth of wisdom and truths in the form of lyrics. Sufi poetry makes extensive use of parables, allegories and metaphors and while all poetry is at some level always an expression of the self, Sufi poets just as Sufism, often expound upon a heightened experience with the spiritual. An encounter of the kind I guess, which gives rise to intense epiphanies of the soul.

I found it bewildering when I first read Sufi poetry cos it spoke of a love for God so intense, so personal, so passionate. My orientation towards that same spiritual being was always one of fear (when I was a kid), sometimes augmented with great supplication (at exam times), later on replaced by a sense of enquiry and supplanted in periods of personal turmoil, with deep disbelief. Disparate from typical fear and insecurity, Sufism provides a refreshingly simple and bold approach. Sufism and Sufi poetry very uncharacteristically accord the same love to God which you or I would accord to a dearly beloved – replete with yearning and intense desires. Sample these lines by Yunus Emre:

“Your love has wrested me away from me,
You're the one I need, you're the one I crave.
Day and night I burn, gripped by agony,
You're the one I need, you're the one I crave.”

For whomsoever these words may seem to be addressed to at first glance, these lines actually form a conversation between the Soul (who is pining away) and the Creator (the object of desire); it is a symbolic dialogue between the murid (disciple) and his Murshid (Master or God).

Shorn of all embellishments and forged with a rare purity, Sufism is in its essence, just the soul, and about laying it unencumbered with material dualities and connecting with the Divine. A very simple message in all this is: let your soul be enslaved by the love of God and you will be emancipated of impurities. As Hafez of Shiraz the most popular Persian poet, proudly proclaims, “I am the slave of love, I am free of both worlds.”

For the Sufi I guess, mornings tiptoe in with an easy liquid grace after a restful night's sleep on a content pillow, for in his house the door is always open.

Marigolds for Eyes

In little bits and many ways, Simi embodies the guileless and impeccant attitude of a child-like mind. Like I mentioned before, she imbibes an utterly simple mechanism to realise the good and the bad around, without having to resort to duplicity, verbal calisthenics and the rest of that sum total which I suppose, we call ‘worldliness’. No wonder then, that Simi likes wholesome, good-natured and fun films ; films like ‘Jumanji’, ‘Notting Hill’, ‘Baby’s Day Out’, the ‘Home Alone’ series  and so many of Shah Rukh’s ventures. A necessary ingredient when one has a predilection for the kind of films which I just mentioned above is I am pretty sure, a sense of wonderment. Wonder is a precious gift, and too many films now attempt to discover it through cacophony; the trend today seems to create wonder not in the story or in its characters, but in digitally-enhanced sequences.

Anyway, Simi it seems gravitates towards wholesome entertainment in films – a dash of romance, light touches of fantasy, just the appropriate dollop of adventure, canvasses of colourful ecstasy, and loads and loads of comedy. Films which serve this delectable assortment are generally classified as ‘family’. While we are discussing ‘family movies’, I wish to de-bunk 2 myths. A children’s film is not always a family film, neither is an animated one. Now that we have established what a family movie is ‘not’, let us move forward to what it ‘may be’.

A simple rule of thumb for this definition, may be what Roger Ebert prescribes. He says, “A children’s film is a movie at which adults are bored. A family movie is a movie at which, if its good, nobody’s bored.” So, a family film is positioned to appeal not only to a younger audience but to a wide range of viewers. Family films seek to traverse this apparently-disjoint spectrum through an unique balance of story-boarding and humour which oozes sly wit and an edginess, while still remaining universal in appeal.

                                                   

Family films explore universal themes – if ‘E.T.’ is about an unlikely friendship, the ‘The Railway Children’ speaks about dignity in adversity while ‘Fly Away Home’ explores among other things, the sometimes-tenuous bond between child and parent. Family films are wonderful exponents for love too; in ‘Up (2009)’, the tender romance between a reticent Carl and a tomboyish Ellie first sparks and then takes wings with absolutely no spoken words, and on the magical canvas of a lilting score by Michael Giacchino.  

While it is true that so many avant garde family films are actually animated or seem targeted towards the young or the young-at-heart, it is apparent (but not why exactly, to me atleast) that where the story involves children and their immediate setting (parents, teachers, the neighbourhood bully, the reclusive but kind-hearted old neighbour et al), the magic that appears through the child’s eyes and his uncertain place in the world of obtuse-looking adults somehow are easily relateable to most of us too.

I would like to borrow Ebert’s words in his review of ‘E.T.’ to underscore the purport of family films. He says, “This movie made my heart glad. It is filled with innocence, hope, and good cheer. It is also wickedly funny and exciting as hell. This is a movie that you can grow up with and grow old with, and it won't let you down.” It is a moment of intense epiphany for me when I realise that these are just the words I would use to describe Simi. This wonderous touch of gladness, fun, excitement, good-naturedness and timelessness was Simi’s touch too.

Hasta mañana, Simi!  

Always The Confetti Girl

Her name in the rolls came at 18…or was it 19? She wore mostly cheerful-looking, bright-coloured clothes to college, in fact, I think she favoured a bright, fluorescent green top often. I realise now that I know so little about her then, that it is only by concentrating on the slight details that I can describe her.  So, Jassimran Kaur’s roll no. is 18 or 19 in our MBA batch; she has this la-de-da air about her that I must say is infectious; she starts coming in for classes I guess, 2 or 3 weeks after the session began. She does not take much time in making friends.

In fact, when I squint and try hard to remember stuff about her, all I come up with are pretty random, inconsequential-appearing stuff. Like that time our batch goes for an outbound trip to the hills where we undertake all kinds of activities in groups and pairs. We go rock-climbing on a cliff face where the climber wearing safety harness belts, ascends using precarious holds, while another person on the ground (belayer) holds a rope attached to the climber’s safety, anchoring him. Well, when it is Simi’s (that’s Jassimran) turn to climb up, I am her belayer. As Simi climbs up, I have to slowly feed out the rope and if she gets stuck at any point, I have to hold the rope fast. And Simi does not make the task any easier. She flings her legs wildly, cries out for assistance repeatedly, loudly protests about the utter stupidity of the task just like most of us (all this while still on her way up), but reaches the top somehow. Finally, it seems to me.

Another time, we are seated next to each other in a test. I must have spent half the time on my paper and the other half assisting Simi with hers. Every so often, Simi looks up, softly whispers in my direction, and then I would look up too and whisper back the answer to her. Simi typically does not have many of the answers for the test but how does anyone refuse Simi?

While we are discussing Simi, the subject of her seemingly indecipherable name makes for a delightful side-story. Most of us in the batch are acquainted with the name ‘Simran’ (well, someone who has seen DDLJ knows anyway, but then who among us has not seen DDLJ?!), but Jassimran?? In the beginning I guess, some of us call her ‘Simran’ and a few even tease her with ‘Just-Simran’. Added to all these, faculty members develop a particular ability to pronounce her name in hilarious tongue-twisting individual versions. Finally, when it seems that her name could not further morph, someone comes up with ‘Simi’; or maybe it is she herself who puts an end to all the name-changing. And Simi is how she’s known now. I did not care to understand what ‘Jassimran’ actually meant then, but with a little effort now, I am delighted to miraculously (it seems) discover how that unique name, that mystical-sounding nomenclature fits her to a T. Jassimran is a Sikh name, etymologically derived from ‘Jas’ meaning praise or glory, and ‘Simran’ meaning ‘realisation of the highest truth and purpose in one’s life’ or alternatively ‘rememberance through deliberation, meditation and realisation’. So, Jassimran simply explained, is the glorious commitment of the consciousness to the higher spiritual, awakened and self-aware state.

The thing about Simi which I realise fully now (well, I grasped the tip of this even back then) is that she’s one of them. You do not meet too many of them (I have befriended exactly 3) cos simply, they are not around much. Yes, they are individuals but they exist within such a wonderous space encompassing individuality, freedom and the amazingly prescient ability to realise almost, the entirety of the universe around them, that when they are with you, you unknowingly exult in their glow but when they are not there, you long for that indefinable quality which you do not seem to get anywhere else. They are what you would call ‘happy souls’; happy not in that they do or say things which are self-appeasing but they believe in utterances and actions which are so much in harmony with the things around them. If all this sounds too dense, then I suppose it is my inadequacy which makes it seem so. For when I remember that happy and bright light which we used to call ‘Simi’, a simple and deep warmth of the touch of a singularly wonderful person is the first thing which I feel. And as time goes by, increasingly it is the only thing I feel and remember. And that is enough.

[Simi’s birthday comes on 22^nd July and in this month, CPq will explore the happiness and the little joys which I guess, Simi would have liked to share in]